That huge, ponderous head turned to her, and eyes blazed in its depths. From the tops of the antlers, green stringy lichen dangled, sprouting from the wood of the church walls and dripping down from above. Silas saw her, as well, and he smiled. He winked, but she was beyond thought, screaming over and over, lending her voice to the cacophonic sound of the congregation's voices.
At the rear of the church, her captors stopped, just for a moment, and turned her slowly. She tried to fight their hold, but it was relentless. The man reached over and put his hand under her chin. He lifted her face so she fell directly into the crazed, hollow eyes of the thing above the door in the front. Katrina saw eyes as dark and bottomless as chasms drilled back into the wood. She saw the thick ropes of hair carved from unknown wood in an undetermined time, stretching into the walls and shaking the building on its foundation. She felt the hungry draw, the devouring power of the thing. Then she felt nothing. She dropped into darkness, falling to her knees and kept from the floor only by Tommy and Elspeth's grip on her arms. They dragged her quietly into the rear chamber. The curtains dropped back into place as they passed, and Silas stepped down from where he stood behind the wooden podium.
He had everything he needed, and there was no purpose to drawing things out. He stared into entity eyes and started forward with slow, even steps. He studied the eyes of his followers, reached out to touch a few as he passed. The serpents were everywhere, more than could possibly have come from the tanks in back. Energy surged all around him. As he stalked the final steps down the center aisle of the church to the front doors, everything inside followed. It wasn't a group of individuals moving in unison, but a single, fluid entity. The congregation stood, spun, and filled in behind and around him like the wake behind a boat. Some still wore serpents twined about their arms or throats, and other snakes slid sinuously between their feet, up and around their ankles, all in a constant blur of motion that blended one form to the next. The effect was of a giant bat flexing its wings.
The bodies stretched down the pews to the walls on both sides, and tendrils of sickly, greenish light, like an intricate network of roots or veins, flickered in the air between those closest to the wood and the wall itself. Life and power flowed from them into the planks and up through the ropy hair to where glaring, hungry eyes watched over it all.
The church surrounded Silas, and he felt the strength of it—the power that drained in both directions, into the walls and floor of the church on one end, and into himself at the other—into the darkness beyond himself that reared back and screamed a silent challenge through the doors and across the grass to the trees. Until he reached the door he wouldn't see what lay beyond, but he felt it. The darkness inside him felt it, and knew it. The sensation wasn't one of fear, exactly, but there was wariness in it that set Silas's thoughts spinning. It was the first time he'd sensed hesitation since the night in the woods and a stark reminder that, while the darkness rooted inside him might be immortal, he was not.
He relished the challenge. Confrontation was something he'd avoided all his life, a thing he'd feared. Those who bought supplies from him had bullied him. Those who sold him his supplies had cheated him. Everyone he had come into contact with over recent years had talked behind his back, laughed at and ignored him. No more. This was his night, his moment, and despite the fact that it was only the shell of what he'd become that started life as Silas Greene, it was that shell that would play front man to the band.
He swung the doors of the church wide. At that moment, he felt the darkness above him contact the doorframe again and press into the wood. There was a jolt of current, as if he'd completed an electric circuit and used himself as the fuse. He stood very still, arched his back, and screamed. The scream caught itself on the chant and rose. It swelled to enormous volume and became a war cry. He raised his arms and felt those gathered behind him ripple. He moved through a wave of energy and darkness to stand on the front steps of the church and glare out across the lawn.
Across the way, Abraham stood, surrounded on all sides by faces that watched from the trees and others that crowded in behind. There was a clear demarcation between the five elders, and those who followed them. The five formed an equal armed cross and the light spilling from the lantern in Jacob Carlson's hand shimmered around them like some kind of wild, spiritual Christmas lights, chasing one another in a fluid motion.
Silas blinked. There was something more. Beyond them all, something larger loomed, but the light was too bright for him to make out details. The light flickered, and each time it did, he felt a small pulse up through the soles of his feet. He stepped back closer to the church and put his arms out wide. He wanted as much connection with the structure as possible. She rested just over his head, and the great horned darkness coursed through his veins.
"You are not welcome," Silas boomed. "Unless you have come to lay down your toys and worship, you are not welcome. Your fathers were not welcome, and you see where their lives have left you. You feel what I've become, and what I can become."
He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. The thoughts of those who stood across the churchyard were veiled, not open books like those of his followers, but he was able to pluck at them randomly. He found images, desires, hungers and fears and he magnified them. He found a man who dreamed of one of the women beside him and he conjured an image of that woman, naked before a fire, writhing. He felt the man waver and sent a slap of fear into the woman's face. She turned, caught her companion's expression, and backed away in sudden terror.
Silas' thoughts slipped into their minds and wrapped around whatever he found, twisting and warping, stroking and stinging. His eyes glittered, and even as his mind worked its insidious way through their ranks, he spoke.
"What has taken root here is too old for you. She is too strong. Your father should have burned her when he had the chance, but instead he let her into his mind. She corrupted him, bent him to her will, and now she is strong. Stronger than you, stronger than your childish symbols."
Abraham didn't listen. He felt Silas reach for his mind, and stood firm. Images of Katrina flashed through his thoughts; Katrina bound on the bare floor of the barn he'd seen before; Katrina being dragged down the center aisle of the church through an ocean of serpents. Katrina staring into the eyes of the wooden hag above the door and above Silas' head where he stood.
Abraham mouthed the words and they rose from somewhere beyond him. The voice that crackled with strength and energy was not his alone. It belonged to Harry George, and Jacob Carlson, to Barbara Carlson and Cyrus Bates. It belonged to each and every one of those behind and surrounding him and it belonged to the mountain. What could not be plucked by force could be spit out. What would not let go could be crushed and ground and consumed.
They took a step forward. The song marked each motion, and none of them moved without the others. Their human cross slid across the grass between the trees and the church, and the glow behind them strengthened. Those who fell within its illumination shook their heads, blinked, and cast off the distractions Silas sent over them in dark waves. They pulled into a single line behind Abraham and Cyrus, behind the cross and the book, the sword and the light, and they marched forward.
Their song became a march, then, powerful and rhythmic, and when their feet struck the grass and the stone beneath there were tremors. If dinosaurs walked the earth, the sound and power of their passing would be the same. Abraham didn't fear Silas Greene, or those beyond him. He didn't fear the serpents, or the hag above the door. He called out the great horned spirit with words and rhythms old as the mountain, reminding it of its roots, of its purpose.
Silas stood his ground and redoubled his efforts. His followers spilled out the doors and spread along the front wall of the church, not losing contact with the wood for even a second. It became an eerie standoff, pale, weakening figures slipping like the serpents they bore from the church, pressing to the wood walls, sliding their hands over one another hungrily, their collective
gaze turned on Abraham and the elders. They fanned out and curled at the end, the wings of the great bat forming once again with the church at their back.
Abraham advanced slowly, and he felt the exhilaration—the certainty—of his actions. He felt his father's hand steadying him and the voices of generations of men and women of the mountain flowing through his mind and ordering his thoughts. His movements were not his own, but belonged to a greater force, and nothing could stand before them.
Then another figure slipped from the church. Smaller than Silas, slender with long dark hair, she came forward and knelt at Silas' side. She wrapped her arms around his legs, pressed her small, curved form into his legs and laid her head on his thigh. She turned to face Abraham and smiled wickedly. The dark symbol pulsed on her forehead, and her eyes glowed green and serpentine.
It crumbled as swiftly as it had built. The power of the light, the force of the song, shattered and fell to splinters of broken sound. Barbara Carlson' s voice dropped away from the song and rose in a long, heart-rending wail. The girl kneeling at Silas' feet was Elspeth, and she turned, locked her gaze onto her father's stolid face, and softly licked at Silas' leg through the pants. She rubbed herself against him shamelessly, then threw back her head and laughed out loud.
Barbara Carlson fell to her knees in the dirt, and Abraham barely stopped his forward progress in time to keep from tripping over her. Jacob Carlson stood his ground, but the man shook, his entire body caught in the tremor. The light in his hand wavered, guttered, and threatened to go out entirely. Harry George could take no more. Without looking back, the man charged.
Harry held the long wooden sword before him like a stake and surged up the stairs of the church toward Silas. Harry screamed his challenge and drove the blade forward, but Silas sidestepped nimbly. He brought his arm down on Harry's, and the blade fell from the older man's numbed grip. Harry stumbled past, and hands reached up from either side of the stairs. They drew him into the doorway of the church, and down. Serpents rose and Abraham saw at least three strike before Harry hit the ground.
Barbara tried to rise. Abraham never ceased chanting. He reached down with one hand and gripped Barbara by her shoulder. He lifted her and she staggered, but kept her feet. Jacob didn't move, but he sang. The song had wavered, lost and confused in the pounding rhythm of Greene's chant, but now its voice returned. Someone stepped from the shadows and stood at Abraham's side, where Harry had stood moments before. Abraham didn't know the man, but he carried a wooden stave, and he held it as Harry had held the blade. They wavered, just for a moment, then the song regained its strength, and Abraham took another step forward.
Silas grinned at him, stepped aside, and Abe saw straight down the center of the church. The light inside was a brilliant green now, and the walls were strung with sticky green fibers that dangled and danced in a non-extant wind. Abe stopped again, and the others barely caught the change in time. At the far end of the church, just in front of the curtains leading to the baptismal in back—and the pool—Katrina stood. She was held, her arms at her sides, and her legs spread. Greene's followers were all over and around her, their hands brushing her flesh. She was visible for just a second, saw Abe, and screamed. Then she was dragged through the curtains, and all hell broke loose.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Amos didn't know what to do. He heard the singing in front of the church, and he knew something was happening there. From where he stood in the rear, he saw the light inside the church flow to the far end, and it sent a shiver through him he couldn't explain. The light should stay put. It should just shine out of the sconces on the wall and the bulbs dangling from the ceiling and…well…light. Instead, it flowed past the windows and rippled along the walls like waves on a lake when something big is dropped into the water. That the wave was moving away from him was good, but where was Elspeth? Then he saw a shadowy stick figure emerge from the trees. Amos grew very still. Was this one of Greene's followers, or was someone else trying to use the back way in? Amos frowned. It was an old man. He could see the newcomer clearly in the moonlight. His arms and legs were so thin that what was left of his clothes draped over them like a shroud. His hair clung in matted clumps to his skull, and he walked like he was drunk, or sick. The man stopped, bent almost double, and coughed so hard and long that Amos thought he'd keel over and die, right on the spot, but a minute later the old guy was up and moving again. Amos saw him reach the rear door of the church, on the side by the baptismal pool, and decided he'd seen enough. Maybe he could slip in behind the old guy without being noticed. Maybe not. He couldn't do any good for anyone standing alone in the trees. The stick-man pulled the door to the church open and stepped inside. Amos followed about ten yards behind. He glanced to either side, saw nothing, and gripped the door. He pulled it open cautiously, glanced into the back room, and stepped inside.
It was a mistake. The second he was in the door, two figures dragged a third through the curtains from the front of the church. He recognized Elspeth at once, and called out to her. They both turned, spotted him, and at that same time he saw the dark marks on their foreheads and the green, glowing emptiness of their eyes. They dropped whoever it was they carried and turned to face Amos, who brought the shotgun up from his hip and aimed it dead at Tommy Murphy's chest.
Then he saw it. To his right, the pool bubbled like some sort of hot tub gone mad. The lights were on inside, and they made the water green, but it was more than that. The surface of the pool bowed up and lurched blindly for the side. It slapped once, slipped back, rose and came over the edge. Tommy started to laugh—his voice high pitched and crazed—and Elspeth advanced on Amos, her hand outstretched, licking her lips lasciviously, but he paid her little mind.
It was the thing in the pool that had his attention. It was crawling out. There was no head, but it had the body of a serpent—or a root? As it flowed up and out of that water, it grew more narrow and focused, writhing from side to side in hunger and searching for food.
Amos glanced once over his shoulder at his sister, who was almost close enough to touch him, and he staggered back. He spun in a single fluid motion, aimed the shotgun directly at the side of the pool. He pulled the trigger, and the blast was deafening in the small room. Then he pulled it again, releasing the second barrel into the already cracked side of the pool, shattering it and spraying water across the floor.
Without a glance back, he spun, grabbed Elspeth by the arm, and dragged her to the door. He flung it open and they were out, and he dropped the gun without a thought. Tossing his sister's suddenly weak and trembling body over his shoulder, Amos Carlson took off for the trees at a run and didn't look back.
Under the cover of the commotion Amos had caused, the old man slipped through the curtains and into the church. All backs were turned to him for the moment, and he made his way forward as quickly as he could. He used the pews to his right like crutches, leaning first on one, then the next until he reached the back of the crowd wavering and swaying just inside the door, threatening to burst out over Abraham and his followers in a green glowing wave.
Their skin was unnaturally pale, and in the green light it took on the sickly pallor of slime. Serpents slithered about his feet, but he knew them well, and they paid him no heed. A final fit of coughing shook him and he staggered. Something had loosened deep inside, and he knew it was not phlegm. The pain was white hot and burning and he used it, feeding it carefully into his arms and legs.
He brushed through the gathered congregation, pressed them aside and slipped sideways through the gaps. He reached the steps, and he saw the darkness hovering over Silas Greene. With a croaking cry he shot forward, put all his slight weight behind the blow and slammed into Silas from behind.
At the same moment Amos let the first blast of his shotgun fly into the baptismal pool, and that shock ran through the church, rippled through the walls and shot up through the floor. The congregation scattered, some thrown free of the front wall, and others tumbling over pews and into the ais
les. Serpents wound and twisted their way under pews and into corners, and Silas tumbled forward.
Abraham watched from below as something small and dark darted out of the church and slammed into Silas Greene's back. He heard the report of the shotgun and the thunderous crack that followed. Silas fell straight at Barbara Carlson, who stood transfixed, and the second shot rang out through the sudden deafening silence. The shadows behind Silas wavered, but did not fade. The antlers plunged straight through Barbara, who flung her arms in the air and screamed. She backed into Abraham, who backed away and nearly tripped over those coming up behind him.
They stood, and they stared as Silas found his hands and knees, shook his head and swung the huge shadow rack of horns. They stepped back, beyond that sweep, and waited. The other form, the smaller form that had toppled Silas from the steps, lay on the ground just behind Greene. He shook his head slowly from side to side and did not seem to be able to lift it from the ground.
Silas growled, a guttural sound rising from deep inside. It rose through the earth and stretched to the trees. He pressed suddenly up off the ground and turned. Ignoring Abe and his followers, Greene turned on the man who had pushed him, stalking the prone form like a big cat. He kicked the man in the side and flipped him to his back. Greene's strength had not dissipated, and though the green glow had dimmed in the church, it had not faded entirely. With each step Silas took in that direction, it strengthened perceptibly.
Then Silas stopped. He stared at the old man on the ground and his jaw dropped. He shook his head from side to side and the great shadow mimicked the motion.
"I'll be damned," Silas said. "Reverend Kotz. Now, this is a surprise."
Ancient Eyes Page 27